


Of Ropes and Feathers

by janto321 (FaceofMer)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Sex, Bondage, Dom/sub, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Spanking, Sub Crowley, Wings, dom aziraphale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-06-29 10:42:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19828489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaceofMer/pseuds/janto321
Summary: Aziraphale knows what Crowley needs





	Of Ropes and Feathers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Irrevocably_Sherlocked](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Irrevocably_Sherlocked/gifts).



Aziraphale has taken off his suit coat and rolled up his sleeves. Crowley is naked, on his knees, hands bound behind him. Aziraphale has a hand in his hair, fucking his mouth, using him the way he wants to be used.

Crowley moans around him. He doesn’t need to breathe, but the force of habit is hard to break and there are tears in his eyes as Aziraphale thrusts down his throat.

“You truly are beautiful,” says Aziraphale, holding his head in place, forcing Crowley to look up at him and see the truth of his words. As if his angel would lie to him.

Crowley’s heart aches. The light of Aziraphale’s love should burn. It should feel like Falling. But it feels like Glory. 

Aziraphale pulls back and leans down to kiss swollen lips. Crowley moans against him, shivering with a need he can’t name.

Crowley feels Aziraphale’s hand on his arm. He’s guided up and over to the bed, settling on his knees and laying forward, arse in the air. Open. Needy. Presenting himself.

“My dear fellow,’ murmurs Aziraphale, checking the bonds around his wrists even though he knows they’re still tight. He rests his hand on the small of Crowley’s back. Crowley can feel the way he’s admiring him. It makes him want to simultaneously preen and vanish. He’s never been worthy of Aziraphale. He can’t be. He’s vile. Unclean.

A sharp swat brings him back to the present and makes him suck in a breath.

“You are not unclean,” says Aziraphale to his thoughts. “You were made for Heaven and for me. You are worthy of love and affection.”

Crowley blushes. He might have been made for heaven, but that was a very long time ago. He turns his head away. Aziraphale’s hand comes down again and he moans. Aziraphale won’t injure him, but he will give him what he needs, as he has always done.

There is one more strike, loud in the quiet room. Crowley groans, wanting to wear Aziraphale’s handprint like a brand. 

Aziraphale lines up and thrusts in all at once. Crowley shouts, pushes back against him. He can feel Aziraphale’s trousers against his heated, tender skin, reminding him of his own nakedness. It should feel wrong to crave helplessness under this angel, but nothing else feels so right. 

Taking his hips in hand, Aziraphale thrusts hard and fast. Crowley is merely a vessel, created for Aziraphale’s pleasure. His shoulders ache with the angle and he can feel the ropes tight around his wrists, but all that is kindling for the flames of their passion.

Aziraphale thrusts a few more times and then comes, folding over Crowley, panting his pleasure into his shoulder. Crowley’s cock aches, but he knows Aziraphale will take care of him.

Finally, Aziraphale pulls out. With a touch, he releases Crowley’s wrists and guides him onto his back. Crowley rolls his shoulders and waits for orders. Aziraphale is right, he was an angel once. But he asked too many questions and hung around the wrong people until he Fell. With Aziraphale he has landed.

“Above your head,” says Aziraphale. Crowley obeys and his wrists are bound to the headboard. “Now, let me see your wings.”

Crowley swallows, hesitates. The black wings are a sharp reminder of what he is. He takes a breath and then allows them to unfurl, shifting a bit until he’s settled again on his back, wings spread wide underneath him, black as midnight. Black as pitch.

“Beautiful,” says Aziraphale again, leaning in to kiss the inside of his knee.

He’s vulnerable. More than just the nudity, more than just the submissive wings, more than his raised knees and bound wrists. Aziraphale could plunge a flaming sword into his heart and Crowley would welcome it.

Trust isn’t easy when you’re a demon.

Aziraphale remains dressed, knowing it’s what Crowley wants. Perhaps later he’ll remove his clothes as well, when Crowley’s need to be overwhelmed is banked. For now though, he settles between Crowley’s thighs and kisses him as he thrusts in again.

Crowley moans, helpless, eyes shut against the grace in Aziraphale’s face. He feels the angel’s wings open above him. They cover Crowley’s and he is pinned with Aziraphale’s weight and wings and heart and the glorious light of his soul.

Aziraphale’s hand is around Crowley’s cock. “Come for me,” he says in a voice like a hymn whispered in the holy of holies. 

Crowley has no choice but to comply. He feels himself surrender completely, adrift in pleasure and security. _Home._ This feels like home. With Aziraphale he is no longer a wretched creature cursed to wander the face of the earth.

Aziraphale kisses him lovingly, moving inside of him, filling him body and soul. In this moment they are one.

“Aziraphale,” moans Crowley, voice ragged and broken. At the sound Aziraphale comes again, holding him, hips rocking slowly with every pulse of his cock.

Crowley is vaguely aware of his wrists being released, of Aziraphale tending to him, of being wrapped up in his angel’s quilt. He breathes in the comforting scent of him while Aziraphale gently preens his wings.

Later, much later, Aziraphale will stay by his side as he sleeps, vigilant. And no nightmares will trouble him in the angel’s bed.

**Author's Note:**

> Much thanks to lmirandas for reading along and Beltainefaerie for reading and betaing!
> 
> You can find me on twitter and tumblr at merindab


End file.
